


Dosed

by escribo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 07:09:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/607172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/escribo/pseuds/escribo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sirius is sick and James offers somewhat dubiously helpful advice to Remus, who is stuck playing nursemaid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dosed

It’s a switch, certainly, to have Sirius flat on his back beneath a pile of blankets, a wad of tissues in his hand, his body wracked with chills and coughs. Remus is used to being the one treated as though he's a potion that they don't quite remember the number of rotations to stir to keep it from exploding and he bears it rather manfully, he thinks--or _moonfully_ , he amends, since Sirius isn't capable of making the bad joke himself—with hardly a moan or whinge. Not so with Sirius who thinks that the gods have sent germs to personally smite him for his handsomeness, which isn’t fair, in his estimation, because only Muggles get sick, despite the number of times that Remus has corrected that pure born bred fallacy. It’s better, Remus admits, than when Sirius first woke with a fever, convinced in his hallucinations that he’d been cursed by Death Eaters.

James, only just back from an Order mission, stands at Sirius’ bedroom door on the way to his own, catching Remus as he’s quietly backing out with a tray laden with untouched cups of tea, empty potion vials, and a small mountain of tissues. "What's wrong with him?" 

"Sick," Remus whispered, afraid that they might wake Sirius again. 

"He's never sick."

"And yet." Remus gestures with the tray toward the lump that lay beneath a mound of blankets. James narrows his eyes, looking around the room as if searching for something to poke him with. "Don't you dare wake him. It took me hours to get him to sleep."

"Shouldn't we check to make sure he's all right."

"I have been, you dolt, but he's driving me insane," Remus hisses desperately to James. He balances the tray with one hand so that he could curl his fingers around James' wrist to keep him from escaping. It's been three very long days. "He wants tea and then leaves it untouched. He wants soup but he hates the squiggly bits."

"Squiggly bits?"

"Noodles. I had to pick the noodles from his soup before he’d consent to drink the broth. Nothing makes him happy."

"Mum used to kiss my forehead when I was sick. Did you try that?"

Remus looks up at James and manages to compose his face into something that says _have you taken a stunner whilst out protecting the Wizarding world_ because he’s quite sure that is the response that James wants. It’s piss taking, he’s sure, and not a jab about being gay or about how everyone knows Remus has been half in love with Sirius since they were both eleven. He hopes, anyway. "He's nineteen, Potter, not four, and I'm not his mum."

“All right,” James says as he takes a step back, hands up in mock surrender. "I just meant that it always made me feel better."

"So, that’s your suggestion. Years of training in the art of magic. High honors in potions, transfiguration, and charms, and you would like me to give Sirius a peck on the forehead to remedy all that ails him."

"You’ve had the same training," James (rather gleefully, it seems to Remus) reminds him. "And I’m not suggesting it to replace the potions that I can see you’ve already administered but it couldn't hurt, right? Besides, I bet his mum never went near him when he was sick."

"I'm not his mum," Remus mutters again but stands thinking about what James has said for so long that he doesn't notice when James leaves him to it, and is only pulled from his thoughts when Sirius begins to cough again.

"Moony," Sirius rasps, pushing off his bedding like a man climbing from a deep hole. He manages to sound demanding yet pitiful in the same ragged breath and Remus is quick to put the tray down onto the floor to rush to his side.

"I don't know when we decided that I would play nursemaid,” Remus says even as he helps Sirius into a more comfortable position and holds a glass of water to his lips to sip.

"James doesn't do it right and Peter'd make a mess of it."

"As you've never been sick before, you don’t know that. It's more likely because I’m here, as always. Another advantage to being nearly unemployable, for you at least."

"S'not true," Sirius says, stopping when he’s overtaken by another coughing fit that leaves him breathless and bent nearly double as Remus rubs his back. It’s some minutes before Sirius can talk again, hand waving when Remus would shush him. "They’re terrible the morning after the moon, aren’t they? I’ve seen. You’ve always preferred me. Admit it."

Remus gives a slight cough of his own and his hand falters in its movement, but Sirius doesn’t seem to notice. He just falls back onto his pile of pillows and rubs his hands over his face, whispering, "I feel awful."

"I'm sorry," Remus whispers back as he sits down on the massive bed next to Sirius, leaning his back against the ornately carved headboard. He’s surprised when he feels Sirius slump against his side and for a moment is frozen, unsure of what to do or how to offer comfort. Though he’s often been on the receiving end of someone else’s care for nearly his entire life, he’s too often been in too much pain or too sedated to notice what was happening. He quite simply doesn’t know what to do. 

His hands flutter uselessly—nervously—before settling once again on Sirius’ back and the other to stroke through his hair. He thinks again of James’ advice for the Curing of Colds and, quickly, before he can lose his nerve, bends down to press a soft kiss to Sirius’ forehead. His nerves (and fear of being punched) return when Sirius sits up suddenly enough to smack the back of his head against Remus’ chin and to make them both sway with his momentum.

"Why’d you d'that?"

"I don't know. James suggested it." Remus cups his chin, trying to pretend that his hand isn’t shaking, and watches as Sirius settles back against the pillows. "He said it used to make him feel better when he was sick, when his mum would do it.”

"Did your mum do it?"

"Can’t remember." Remus looks at Sirius then away. His father had never liked to talk about his mum and Remus has very few memories of what his life had been before he’d been bit—before she’d left. Sirius has always been greedy for even those few moments (never more than impressions) of kindness and motherly love because he had none at all, despite having been raised at the hem of Walburga’s robes.

"I suppose she might have," Remus says after a bit, just to feel Sirius' relax a bit. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," he added more quietly.

"You didn’t.”

"But I did." Remus doesn’t want to, but he pushes himself to the edge of the bed to stand, to go. "I can tell because you’re doing that thing with your eyebrow."

"I'm not," Sirius says even while he digs his fist into eye to make the nervous twitch stop. "Don’t go. Please. I don’t want you to go.”

The plea in Sirius’ voice when it cracks on the last words is so plaintive that Remus doesn’t have a choice but to sit back again. After a while, Sirius rests his head against Remus’ shoulder and they stay still and quiet until Sirius’ breathing evens out in sleep and Remus takes the opportunity to push Sirius’ hair from his forehead.

"Is he asleep again?"

Remus startles and pulls his hand away from Sirius, when James speaks. Remus didn’t hear him come in but sees that James is already showered and dressed, ready to go back out. "Yeah."

"Is he better?”

"I think so. The fever’s broke."

"That’s good. I told Lily I would go see her when I came back but I won’t if you need a break.”

"I’m fine."

"Do you two need anything?"

"No."

James takes a step into the hall then comes back. He studies Remus and Remus tries not to squirm as he wonders how much James saw. Enough, apparently.

"You know we aren’t fussed about..." James stops and looks around Sirius’ room, as if the answer will be contained in the dusty curtains that haven’t been drawn for days or the piles of laundry that Sirius never seems to get around to washing. "Anything," he finishes, rocks back onto his heels, nodding once and gives Remus a smile meant to instill confidence.

Remus knows that when James says _we_ , he’s speaking for Sirius as well and he’s often wondered if maybe they performed some sort of mind melding spell whilst at Hogwarts. 

"Thanks, James,” he says because he’s not sure what else to say.

"Especially him--Sirius, I mean. He, ehm, well he'd kill me if I said anything else but it's the war and as Dung says our motto must be Crap Dam." James grins at Remus and Remus can't help but laugh as he looks back down to where Sirius sleeps on. "At least think about talking to him when he wakes up, Moony."

"I will."

"Then I'm off. I've a bit of seizing to do myself, if Lily'll let me. I have the mirror if you need me."

A few minutes later, Remus hears the roar of the floo and then the flat is quiet again. He strokes Sirius' hair again before he presses another kiss to Sirius' forehead. Sirius sighs in his sleep, clutching at Remus' tee shirt a bit before he starts to make a soft whiffling kind of snore. Remus relaxes back against the pillows as Sirius sleeps on. _Crap dam_ indeed. Dung's Latin might be off but Remus suddenly decides that maybe he has the right idea after all.


End file.
